


The Serpent's Bride

by Silberias



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Concept was basically Robert was a jerk and Ned wouldn't tolerate it, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, a smattering of smut, broken betrothal, canny!Ned Stark, poor Ned Stark learned how to play the game of thrones :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 11:22:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3288521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silberias/pseuds/Silberias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When King Robert shares plans to make Sansa Stark his mistress when she comes of age, Ned Stark defies the king and sends both of his daughters to Dorne--Sansa married to Prince Oberyn, Arya betrothed to Prince Trystane. </p><p>Over the course of years, a plot begins to take shape to rid the royal family of some of the wickedness that has set in like rot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Serpent's Bride

**Author's Note:**

> Saw a photoset on tumblr in the Sansa Stark tag. Had to write. There's a bit of smut, not much though. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

**_I dreamt of a maid at a feast with purple serpents in her hair, venom dripping from their fangs._ **

* * *

 

Sansa's father was quiet and serious as he put her hand into the man from Dorne's. She had cried all night when her father had told her that she would be wedding a prince--but she would be wedding a Prince of Dorne, not the son of the King. Her eyes were still puffy she was sure, the mid-morning light making her look all the worse despite her handmaidens and Jeyne's efforts otherwise. She repeated the words as she was bid by the High Septon, tilting her face up for Prince Oberyn to kiss her.

Her wedding dress was a white one that Jeyne had brought with her in hopes that she would catch a lord for a husband, and Sansa felt ridiculous. The dress she was to have worn at her wedding to Joffrey had not yet even been commissioned and now it never would be.

Her father had explained his reasons to her gently yesterday--the king thought to make Sansa his mistress when she came of age and Lord Eddard wouldn't see her treated thusly. If she was not to be Prince Joffrey's lady wife she would be the lady wife of Prince Oberyn. It was not fair he'd readily admitted when she'd started crying, but it was more fair than the fate the King had plotted for her. The Dornishman had been visiting the Capitol to personally convey congratulations to her and Joffrey for their betrothal, an amethyst hairnet wrought in bright copper being the gift Prince Doran bestowed on her for the occasion.

Now it was the only nicety afforded her on this day and thinking on it again she wanted to cry. The High Septon finished his pronouncements--cursed be the one who came between them--and Sansa lost herself in her thoughts. This man had children twice her age, and children younger than her. He had left his mistress back in Dorne, but she knew in her heart he would not leave the woman for her. Ellaria Sand was a woman, a mother of his children, and Sansa wasn't even flowered.

"My lady, shall we go?" She looked up at her--her _husband_ and nodded hesitantly. She was only glad that this was a proxy marriage--it would not be consummated until her first moon blood fell, and she would live apart from him while in Dorne until then. Her sister was also being sent, as well as Jeyne, and in a venal twist her sister was to be betrothed to Prince Trystane, a boy Sansa's own age and the nephew of the man who gently led her from the Sept.

The Northmen who were to accompany them to Dorne were already on the ship bound to Dorne and they would travel there directly rather than stopping at the Red Keep. Sansa willed herself into looking pleasant and sweet as Prince Oberyn helped her into the palanquin before getting in as well, the litter bearers taking them towards the docks.

"Lady Sansa, I know you didn't want this. You will not have to pretend otherwise when we are in Dorne. I can no more force you to be happy than I can forge Valyrian steel," his tone was kind and she swallowed harshly as she looked up at him. She understood that he was saving her from great disgrace and abuse but it hurt to have all of her dreams so harshly ripped from her. Even Arya had been alarmed at this turn of events.

"I will try to be happy, my lord," she gave him a wavering smile as dreams of receiving roses at tourneys faded from her heart, "my father says that I will forget the troubles here soon enough." He nodded, a certain hesitance still in his eyes. She remembered something that one of the knights had murmured--that this action was surely to anger the King and that her father would be in danger from this day forward.

"Perhaps you will. Tell me, my lady, does a life at court or a life of privacy appeal to you more?"

Sansa grew quiet, watching the people of King's Landing pass them by as they neared the docks. They lined the streets but kept well away from the Martell and Stark knights who escorted the party. Their eyes still sought for a glimpse of herself and Prince Oberyn in their palanquin. _Dorne is where the lemons grow, my darling, you may have them with every meal,_ her father had said this morning at breakfast, trying vainly to comfort her. Part of her wanted to answer privacy--that no one would see her stumble or suffer. The other made her want to make her parents proud--she might not be chief in her husband's affections but she would be his wife not his whore.

"A life at court might help me adjust better to Dorne, my lord," she replied eventually.

"Then I will send a raven telling the castellan to prepare you rooms. Now, tell me true, have you heard of or played a wonderful game called cyvasse?"

* * *

 

It had been a tense several months, nearly a year, before the King settled his rage against his Hand. Not enough to the point that, after another three years, he would allow Lord Eddard to attend the affirmation of his daughter's wedding--the Septon of Sunspear fasting the hands of Prince Oberyn and Princess Sansa once more and declaring them one heart, one body, and one soul and speaking the curse on any who attempted to part them. For the first time since arriving in Dorne Sansa had been terrified as she was led by giggling women to her husband's chambers.

During the past years she had seen relatively little of the man her father had given her to and knew him only through his letters to her and the favors he bestowed on her during tourneys that the Dornish court attended. He was kind, she could tell from how others spoke of him and how attentive he was during the few interactions they had had. From the rumors coming out of King's Landing she had dodged a terrible series of events. One after another other noble ladies, girls her own age or older, were hustled swiftly out of the city by the Lord Hand after being attacked or brutalized by Prince Joffrey--or losing their virtue to the King.

"My sweet lady," her husband said softly as he shut the door behind him. She fidgeted with her shift, staring at this man her father had given her to. She was sixteen now, only slightly tanned by the Dornish sun and refined in many courtly manners as she hadn't been when she first arrived. The Dornish lords said of her that the only reason she did not eclipse Princess Arianne in beauty or accomplishment was because Sansa herself was not Dornish.

When he reached for her hands she readily gave them over, breathing deeply to calm her nerves. They'd discussed this--there was a duty to be performed tonight, but it need not be performed again unless they both wished it. She'd met his paramour a few times but mostly the woman kept close quarters with Oberyn or with her daughters, and Sansa knew he would not seek her out when he had Ellaria Sand for his pleasures. Still, her breath hitched as he gently unlaced her shift and pushed it from her shoulders.

She reached up trembling hands to also remove his clothing, swallowing thickly when she parted his tunic to reveal the smooth skin of his chest. Looking up at him Sansa wanted to cover her own nakedness but under his appreciative gaze she squared her shoulders and straightened her posture. She was the daughter of Catelyn Stark, a lovely and perfect lady and a Princess of Dorne.

Oberyn kissed her, sliding his hands down her shoulders to hold her elbows. Sansa shivered when her breasts touched his skin, her trembling fingers smoothing flat along his stomach and sides. His lips on hers weren't demanding but he certainly knew what he was doing as he kissed her. She gasped when a hand left her elbow to wrap his arm around her back, clutching her close to him. It was cool in the bedchamber but his skin was nearly hot on hers as he walked backwards to the bed, letting her go so she could slide in under the covers.

Sansa gasped when he lay between her legs, one hand grasping her hip and the other reaching to play with her sex--the touches sending shivers up her spine and through her legs, leaving her whimpering and sighing. She let out a surprised moan when he very gently put one and then two fingers into her, and her skin felt like it was on fire as he pushed and pulled. This was surely the reason that women tolerated their men's visits to brothels and sighing houses, she decided when he put his mouth on one of her breasts and teased her nipple, it was so this might be possible on their wedding night. It rang hollow though as she quivered and yelped through a climax--she was married to this man because another had thought to use her like a whore.

"Sansa? Did I hurt you?" Oberyn's words were as solicitous as they always were with her and her heart hardened just a little. Not towards him, no he had always been good to her, but towards the King--towards this whole world that had done so many horrible things to young women just like her.

"No," she shook her head, still breathless from what he'd coaxed her body into doing, "no, I'm fine. It feels good. Just thinking," she said as he kissed up her chest and along her neck. She could feel his cock against her thigh, heavy and hot on her skin, and clenched her eyes closed.

"Thinking? About what?" his hand on her hip slid to her ribcage, his thumb brushing along the underside of her breast. She peeked into his eyes then, reaching up fluttering hands to hold his face between them, stroking her thumbs along his cheeks. She was still so pale even after the years spent here in Dorne, though she no longer relished in the ideal of milky white skin.

"That I hate the King," she said, her voice hushed and barely audible even in the silence of their room. She'd heard rumors that her husband and his brother also hated the King--that all of Dorne hated the King--but never had anyone spoken them to her directly. It was much more something she'd come to understand over years instead of being brought into confidence.

Her blood was still running hot in her veins even as she stalled their current task with this revelation, though his fingers still played with her sex.

"I hate that he planned to make whores out of the daughters of his greatest friend--I hate that he kept my father from being here--and I hate that he let others murder innocents so that he could be king. I hate him so much," she felt tears prick at her eyes for admitting something so awful but Oberyn kissed her as she finished talking.

"You've married into the right family then, sweetling," he said, finally moving to join their bodies properly. She wasn't sure if it was the intense discomfort of coupling or what she'd admitted but Sansa easily let her husband kiss away the tears that gathered at the corners of her eyes. His weight over her was comforting though, strong and solid, and she found the will to roll her hips in time with his. It was not like the songs where her climax brought on his, instead he found his own completion in her and then helped her find hers, but it felt better than what the songs had promised.

He understood her impotent anger at the way of the world, and that was something she would treasure greatly.

* * *

 

They were part of the wedding coterie sent to King's Landing for the marriage of Princess Myrcella to Prince Quentyn. It was to be a double wedding for the young Martell brothers, as Arya had finally come of age to wed Prince Trystane, and it was a triumph of Sansa's father to have so renewed ties with Dorne. There were whispers of course that the Queen's children were fathered by her brother but those rumors gained little traction under the eye of Ned Stark. In a letter to Sansa he had expressed it thus--King Robert had wanted to declare his children bastards when the rumors reached him but her father had had to explain to the king that there was no woman in Westeros _or_ Essos whose father would consent to a marriage to the Baratheon monarch.

To demand or steal a woman would instantly reduce all claims Robert Baratheon had, save tenuous ones of blood, to the throne and war would quickly follow. He'd become king on the idealism of honoring a promised betrothal--should he act as Rhaegar Targaryen had then there were much more honorable men in the Seven Kingdoms than himself, and after the last two and a half decades the rest of the Seven Kingdoms knew it.

She worried for her father sometimes in the dark watches of the night, feeding her son Rickard when he fussed for her--her admittance on her wedding night had earned a strange kind of loyalty from her husband and he spent several weeks out of every month with her rather than with Ellaria Sand, and from those weeks a child had been conceived. The babe was born screaming and healthy eleven months after her wedding night, his dark hair coming to a peak and his eyes the gray of his grandfather.

Sansa had wanted, at first, to beg out of the journey. Rickard was only six months old and she did not want to bring him to the capitol to be exposed to the filth and danger she now understood to be there. She wanted her son to breathe the fresh air of early spring, to learn to walk surrounded by his sisters, speaking Rhoynish with the same ease as his father while Sansa herself still struggled with the tongue. But she could not bear to live in fear as Oberyn left--she had frightful dreams that he would be murdered, his skull bashed in by Lannister ruffians or nameless assassins. She wanted to be there should such a thing happen, to know it immediately rather than months after the fact.

When she finally reached her decision her husband took her riding out along the shoreline, far from anyone who might overhear them. Silver touched Oberyn's brows now, the sunlight catching on the flecks of silver in his black hair. She most of the time thought it made him look a bit dashing, but days like today it reminded her that he was more than twenty years her senior and that someday she would have to make do without him.

"We are going to poison the king, and his son Joffrey--your father and I will then move against the Lannisters by claiming it was them. We will put young Tommen up as King and wed him to Lady Margaery Tyrell--she's never been attacked by King Robert or his vicious son, so none may claim her virtue is uncertain," Oberyn said after he helped her down from her horse.

"How are you going to poison them? There is no way you'll be able to bribe the kitchen staff," she said, her shock having no place here. She wanted the King dead, and if her father after nearly eight years thought that the Crown Prince was just as bad she would accept his judgment, and it was this wish that made her party to her husband's plots. Even Princess Arianne and Prince Quentyn were kept in the dark about these secret movements but Sansa was included in them. It was not as though she would escape execution or banishment should Oberyn's schemes fail.

"You still have that hairnet I gifted you all those years ago, don't you?" She nodded, taken aback by his change in subject, "then that is how we will get the poison into the celebrations. It will have to be the Strangler, though I would prefer something less dramatic."

"You-- _we_ \--are going to kill a king. Ought it not be something dramatic?" He smiled tightly at that and pressed a quick kiss to her temple for her words.

The sweet lady that was still in her did not want to do such a vicious thing but King Robert had ruined so many lives with his philandering and rages--he had ruined her life, and that of her husband. His mistake had been to not deliver a killing blow against those who he'd hurt and now he had wolves and snakes at his heels.

"We are going to kill a king, but you mustn't speak of it after this afternoon. When your husband is a poisoner must needs be careful, my lady," he said, his tone conspiratorial. She curled against him, breathing deeply as she thought through all of the implications of this. She'd put herself on this road nearly two years ago and this was nearly the end of it.

Oberyn made love to her there on the beach, drawing loud sounds of pleasure from her lips as he thrusted into her. She lost herself in his touch, her nails leaving long red lines on his back, and let him leave biting kisses all up and down her throat. She'd only recently come to love him and it had brought her a kind of peace with her life--how he loved both her and his paramor she didn't quite understand but loving him in return let her accept it better. If only her father had been so honest with her mother.

When they finally left that beach she tied her horse to his and then climbed up into his arms. She was not a princess from a story but she hoped that the things she was going to do would let other young highborn ladies live the life that had been taken from her. She was only glad that Oberyn allowed her to be herself.

Riding through the gates of Sunspear and into the palace stables Sansa allowed herself to smile and blush at those who saw her. She knew that her hair was awry and that Oberyn's lovebites would be bruised to purple by now--everyone knew what they'd done, but having a six month old child gave them certain allowances she knew. People felt it justified to escape the smells and sounds of an infant, especially for two highborns.

"Was he good?" she asked the wet nurse as she and Oberyn entered her rooms. The woman shook her head and handed Rickard to her. She only used the wet nurse as someone to coo to the boy when she herself couldn't--otherwise she nursed him and rocked him, changed his swaddling. It was more common among Dornish ladies than the rest of Westeros and she'd vowed to learn and celebrate the ways of her husband's people. She would not raise up children who felt uncomfortable in their own skins as her mother had.

"Hello little lord," she said to Rickard, petting his soft hair and kissing his forehead, "you have to put up with your father because mother needs to wash." She handed the boy over to Oberyn and went to the fresh wash tub that she'd asked always be ready for her use--usually for Rickard when he messed himself badly, but now she appreciated it to clean herself.

"Shall we bring him to King's Landing with us?" Oberyn called to her, playing with Rickard's fingers to placate him for being so soon taken from his mother's arms.

"I think he should see his cousins marry, even though he won't remember it," she replied. If they were going to do this she did not want her child far from her. If this blew up in their faces she did not want to force Doran to raise up his dead brother's child, nor did she want to be unsure of what happened to her son if they were caught or arrested.

"I'm of the same mind. What do you think, Ric?" the baby screamed out a laugh, surely from being tickled. Sansa smiled as she undressed, happy that Oberyn wasn't going to fight her on this. Happy that she would help wrongs be righted--she'd met Lady Margaery once when she'd visited Sunspear a few years ago, the woman had been sweet and clever and everything that Sansa knew the realm needed in a queen. Hopefully young Prince Tommen was still able to be bent and molded.

Hopefully, she thought as she rubbed absently at her stomach, everything her father and husband had plotted would come to fruition properly and without any extra complications.

* * *

 

Sansa was incredibly happy to see her father and her brothers. Robb had managed to get himself knighted while Bran and Rickon were each fostering with the Tyrells--both very much in awe of Ser Loras and Ser Garlan as they squired for the older boys. Her mother was unable to attend, having to sit at Lord Hoster Tully's deathbed with her sister Lady Lysa. As Sansa hugged her father and plucked Rickard from his bassinet to show him off she decided she was glad for the absence of the two women. She did not want her mother to suffer for the incredibly awkward silences that sometimes loomed in the private apartments that they shared and met in.

Oberyn had taken her hairnet away, saying he would give it back to her in time but for now she ought not inquire about it. Sansa had nodded, losing herself in her needlework and caring for her son. The little boy was getting on towards his first nameday and he was beginning to speak small words--mostly just mama and papa, though he seemed to prefer 'spuh' when referring to his father. When other ladies asked her what this meant she told them the truth--little Rickard saw quite a lot of his father sparring and practicing with his beloved spear, and the little fellow was probably trying to say 'spear,' in lieu of 'papa.'

The royal family was kept at a careful distance from them, her father having managed to harden his heart enough to play the games of intrigue that made up the court, and Sansa was glad of it. She'd grown to know herself better whilst in Dorne and though she still sang the songs she'd so loved as a girl she did not wish after a handsome prince like Joffrey Baratheon. Her prince was tarnished and worn but he was as true to her as his nature allowed him to be and that was enough for her.

There was one person of the royal family who Sansa felt deeply for during this entire plot and that was oddly enough Queen Cersei--a woman who had never been actually kind to Sansa, she'd come to understand, but who had been trying in her backwards way to prepare Sansa for the kind of courtly games that would be played here in the Capitol. Sansa was only glad that the woman had displayed a modicum of jealousy in alerting Lord Stark of the King's intentions towards Sansa herself. If Queen Cersei had not demanded Lord Stark to send his daughters away Sansa's son might bear the name Waters instead of Martell.

Oberyn's scheme would leave this woman without a husband and eldest son, relegated to a sept if she was moderately lucky or perhaps even married to some minor lordling somewhere. Sansa wished that there was another way but Kings did not drop dead on their own and someone would have to be stood up to take the blame. Since the houses of the Starks, Tyrells, Tullys, Arryns, and Martells were all united in this secret pact it could only be the Westerlanders or the Iron Islanders. The Ironborn had no zeal for Baratheon blood after their rebellion more than two decades ago, and so it had to be the Lannisters.

Sansa, as she entertained the queen one afternoon in the garden terrace set aside for the Dornish company, hoped that somehow her father and Oberyn found it in their hearts not to utterly ruin this woman.

"He's a droll little fellow, is he not?" Cersei's fingers played with Rickards easily and lightly, she having been incredibly unconventional with her children and raising them nearly herself for as long as she was allowed to. In another life Sansa knew that Cersei's golden children would bear widow's peaks and eyes as dark as molasses and she would be as happy as Sansa herself.

"A good boy, I've been told, though I have no comparison for myself," Sansa replied, reaching out to gently ruffle her son's hair. Cersei cast an appraising eye--ever watchful, Sansa remembered--over her and a small smile touched her lips.

"But you soon will, I think." Sansa smiled back at her, touching her belly where her flesh had just begun to firm up and poke out the slightest bit. Oberyn hadn't yet noticed but then he'd been very busy of late and during their sea-journey to King's Landing her mother's stomach had easily been disguised as sea sickness.

"Yes. He does not quicken yet, but soon I think. What ought I name him?"

Cersei's smile hesitated and fluttered just a little, softening into something Sansa had never really seen on the woman. It had been years, nearly a decade, since she'd spent this much time with the Queen but surely she had never seen her look like this.

"I named my eldest after a loyal, beautiful Targaryen even though it was out of fashion at the time," she said softly, holding Rickard just a little closer, "I suppose at the time I still believed that a song or two would come true. I was about your age, I think. After Joff I gave them good names from the Westerlands, for little Tomm and Cella."

"My lord husband has already been generous in allowing me to name this one Rickard, though perhaps he will allow me to name this one a name from the North." She let her smile reach her eyes as she spoke, though she knew that these last days--golden and green with Spring they might be--would be the last happy ones that Queen Cersei would have in a long while.

* * *

 

She is not wrong. When King Robert began to choke the Queen had stood up, distractedly ordering one of the Kingsguard to help clear the King's throat--he apparently had nearly choked himself a few times over the years and she and the whitecloaks were all used to this happening--until Joffrey began to choke as well, gasping for air and bleating for his mother.

Oberyn had not told her anything of what the Strangler did, nor did he tell her how he smuggled the poison into the feast using only her hairnet, and so Sansa's scream of terror was convincingly shrill--as were her husband's shout to stop the Queen, Prince Tommen, and Princess Myrcella from eating anything more. Her father meanwhile yelled for the maesters, his voice sharp with alarm as he ordered the Kingsguard to ensure no one left the feasting hall.

It fell, eventually after nearly an hour's confusion, that a Lannister cousin had been seen putting something into the wine he served to the Crown Prince and then to the King. It was only, Lord Eddard announced in a haggard voice later that evening, because of Queen Cersei's prudence in disallowing Prince Tommen the wine--and Princess Myrcella's distaste for the stuff--that had saved them. The Queen was beside herself, weeping between the two cots that had been set up for the dead king and his son, and at first would not believe that a family member of hers would do such a thing until she'd somehow sensed that she did not know all the story.

Sansa felt a chill run up her spine as she watched that preternatural sixth sense creep across Cersei's face--they had been careful to the point of insanity but King Robert had driven something deep inside of his queen utterly insane. Holding Rickard close against her chest, Sansa met the woman's gaze and prayed that she understood that this was for the best of the realm.

"Send--send for the High Septon. We must have Tomm crowned with haste, and then get him married," she said, her voice run ragged by sobs and screams, "if there are plotters among my father's family they must not sense weakness now. The--the Lord Hand will surely help me find a match for my son?" her tone brooked no question, but Sansa's father murmured his assent nonetheless--his voice still shaken from the violent deaths he'd seen today.

As everyone filtered out it left eventually only Sansa and Oberyn with the queen, still sitting between the corpses of her son and her husband.

"I know what you did--you simpered and smiled and you are not half so clever as you think. You killed Fat Bob--well done, though a mouthful of boar might have produced the same effect--but you killed my _son_. My. Son. If you wanted rid of us you might have chosen to kill the lot of us--my father would have."

Oberyn shocked Sansa then by going to Cersei's side and taking one of her hands, gentle fingertips soothing the bruised sides of her hands where she had pounded on the flagstones when the maester had pronounced Joffrey to be dead.

"It is only the cruelty that is culled, my queen. That which can be saved or educated has been spared. I know that he was your son, he was your golden child, but I also know that he grew even more twisted than the man he called father. You know it too."

Her fingers turned into harpy's claws then, shaking and the nails nearly drawing blood as they suddenly clutched against Oberyn's. Sansa hugged Rickard tighter, suddenly afraid of the Lannister woman as she never had been before. This was a lioness on the hunt, and she was terrifying.

" _He was my son,"_ she hissed.

"And he was the Mad King come again to bring death and ruin--would you be another Queen Rhaella? Your daughter and son cast out to wander Essos and die there by Dothraki swords or be sold to slavers from Old Ghis? I say again, my queen," Oberyn's tone was harsh even as he refused to claw and grab at the queen's hands as she did his own, "twas only the cruelty that was culled this day."

Watching Oberyn distentangle his hands from Cersei's and the short bow he gave the woman, Sansa shivered and held her son still when he tried to struggle. This was the madness she'd been spared so many years ago by her father--and though her first wedding had been disappointing and upsetting she would take it any day over the insanity of the royal family.

Weeks later on the ship back to Dorne, their party staying just long enough for the Tyrell host to arrive to keep the peace in the city, Sansa confided her fears with Oberyn and asked him how long all of this would go on.

"Until it ends, my love," he said, smoothing a hand over the low bump of her belly. It had been a calm day of sailing and the evening was pleasantly warm on the lower deck where they curled together in bed. Sansa looked up at him in the gloom, taking in the lines at the corners of his eyes and where his smiles and frowns alike had carved into his cheeks.

"It could be going on for quite some time then?" She squirmed a little closer to him, wanting to be near as she could for as long as she could. Someday the Stranger would take him from her--or a poisoner, as he had taken Queen Cersei's son and husband from her.

"Yes, it could be. But we are Martells my love, and we shall endure it as we always have." As she nodded silent agreement with him Sansa couldn't help but imagine once more Queen Cersei's face as the woman had realized what had been done. The cycle of revenge was alive and well, and Sansa for perhaps the first time in her life understood her father's words:

Winter is coming.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo how did you like it? Let me know!


End file.
